One For the Books
by nsanelildevil
Summary: At just nine years old, Ollie discovers that she is the daughter of multibillionaire Tony Stark. With her mothers passing, Ollie seeks him out and finds him. However it's not just about finding her father-she is on the run from people who want to use her for her unusual intellect.
1. A Very Important Date

It was all so long ago, and yet...not so long ago.

Everything changed the day I took a train from Boston all the way to New York City when I was just nine years old. I kept my hands in the pockets of my worn out sweatshirt, each wrapped around one of two crucial papers which would help to decide the outcome of this important journey. Little did I know just how important it was at the time; had I not forced myself onto that train, on that very day, the fate of the entire universe may have never been rested upon my little shoulders.

I'd gotten off the train in Midtown and once out of the station stood back on the street to look up at my destination. A tall tower with the name **STARK** lit up on the side stood higher than the rest surrounding it. I take a moment to look at my destination just over the heads of Hercules, Minerva and Mercury above the Grand Central clock. People move past me at a rapid pace-even shove me in order to get to their desired location quicker and I decide I must get to mine if I want to make my appointment, so rush off down the busy sidewalks of New York City. Nervously, I enter through the dauntingly tall glass doors at the base of the building, looking around the busy lobby anxiously as I walk to the front desk. My chin barely reaches over it, causing the security guard on his computer to not notice me right away. When He does he says monotonously "Beat it kid, Iron Man's not in."

Clutching the paper in my right hand I look at the man

"I have an appointment" I tell him quietly, placing the folded paper on the desk. I'd printed it out at the public library when I'd called their office from a payphone three months ago. I hadn't let it out of my sight since, for it contained the signature of Tony Stark-the only proof I had to get me into his office and speak with him. Now I watch as the front deskman opens the folded piece of paper, reads it and looks up at me suspiciously.

He crumples the paper and shakes his head "Nice try kid."

"Mr. Stark isn't going to be very happy if I miss my appointment with him because you made a hasty decision" I tell the man quickly "And when I do get a hold of him, which I will, I'd hate to have to give him your name when he asks why I had so much trouble Mr..." I check his name badge "Douglass"

The man's eyebrows raise and he decides to look into the computer for my confirmation. Un-crumpling the paper, he references it to the records in the computer and with reluctance, gives me a security pass. He tells me what floor and which room before I take the confirmation paper and thank him with a boastful grin. I notice men in suits staring at me in my torn up jeans and worn out sneakers, as the elevator raises in awkward silence. I keep my eyes focused on the numbers and get off at floor 44, relieved when there are only a few busy passersby on this floor. I take a moment to look over the edge of the platform, where the many floors of Stark Tower below can be seen layered upon one another, all the way down to the very lobby I was just standing in below. Focusing back on the task before me, I follow a stone path lined with glass panels for safety all the way to the room number the front deskman had given me. Without knocking, I enter to find a very large room, equally lavish to match the rest of the building in every way. There are 3 leather sofas surrounding a television larger than a small car on the wall and a large glass coffee table in the center of the seating; I can tell this is where meetings are held in luxurious comfort. Along the far wall is a bar and to the right of it, another door coated in frosted glass, like the one I'd just come in through. On the left, the wall is paneled glass windows, showing the New York skyline at its brightest in the morning sunlight.

"Mr. Stark with be with you shortly" An Englishman's voice rings out and I jump looking for the man who'd said it, but there isn't anyone else in the room besides myself. The Englishman continues "Please make yourself comfortable while you wait Miss."

Not sure if I should say anything, I walk further into the room without a response, stopping at the floor-to-ceiling windows and looking out over the city everyone knew, but I'd never actually seen. After a few minutes, two people walk through the second door talking to one another.

One is a beautiful woman with strawberry blonde hair and perfectly pale skin. She's dressed fashionably, yet professionally in a long pencil skirt and a collared shirt. The fitted jacket she wears buttoned up makes her look important and her hair is so precisely secured and smoothed it makes her look a bit intimidating, despite her beauty.

The other person is a man, whose face I know well. I've seen him on TV-in the news and in all my research...Tony Stark.

The pair immediately stop talking when they see me, I expect they're staring in the disbelief that a child would have made a business appointment with one of the busiest, most hard to reach men in the world. Obviously annoyed, Mr. Stark looks at the woman "Is this a joke?"

The woman shrugs without a clue and turns to me "Are you..." She looks at her papers "Caroline Locke?"

I nod, staring at Mr. Stark, then add "Well...sort of"

"What do you mean...sort of?" Mr. Stark asks irritably and I pull out the paper from my left pocket, unfolding it with shaky hands "Locke isn't my real last name...I thought...if you saw the last name you might...not see me" I stutter apprehensively, staying rooted to my spot near the window.

"Well then, I understand you have some important business with me...whoever you are" He says as he crosses the room to the bar and takes out two glasses "Can I offer you a drink? Scotch? Whiskey?" He says sarcastically as he pours some amber liquid into one "...warm milk perhaps?"

I shake my head, still staring. He looks at me curiously and walks over to where I'm standing stuck to the floor, drink in hand "Alright then. You gonna just stand there, or you got something for me? Maybe some girl scout cookies?"

Trying to keep my hand from shaking, I hold out the paper I'm holding. He looks at it but doesn't take it "What is it?"

The woman then walks over "I'll take it" She says kindly and reluctantly I hand it to her. She unfolds the paper and her eyes search it as her face slowly falls into a look of dismay.

"What? What is it?" Mr. Stark asks, looking over her shoulder at the paper.

"It's a birth certificate" She says, visibly upset "For a Caroline Stark."

She looks at me, pointing to the paper "This is you-isn't it?"

"This doesn't prove anything" Mr. Stark argues, as she shoves the paper at his chest angrily. She hurriedly exits through the door they came in, leaving the two of us alone. He then he looks at me "This doesn't prove anything." He repeats.

He leaves through the door after her and I wonder if maybe I should leave. I felt as though I'd done something wrong; I was scared. I turn to leave, but Mr. Stark returns with something in his hand before I can take one step.

"Give me your hand" He demands, but I'm frozen in my spot with fear. Impatiently, he takes me by the wrist and presses the object to my fingertip. I feel a sharp pain in my finger and try to pull away in shock, but Mr. Stark presses something to the blood on my finger, hand gripping my wrist tightly. Once he's got his blood he lets go roughly and points at me "Don't move" he orders before leaving through the door with a loud slam.

I try not to look as upset as I feel, before bolting out the door I entered through and running to the elevator. I press the button frantically until the doors finally open and I enter the empty elevator. The doors close and I try to catch my breath and hold back the tears, scolding myself for thinking this might go so smoothly. Of course he'd deny it! Of course he wouldn't want a child! My mother had warned me...she'd warned me about my father...but I hadn't listened. I had needed to try- I needed to know the truth so badly that I had taken a train five hours from Boston in the darkest hours of the morning to find it. Yet, here I was, running away from the answer I had sought for so long.

I throw the security pass on the front desk as I bolt from the building at top speed, despite the yells from security guards demanding that I stop. I run straight to the train station and get on the next train to Boston, unsure of why I'd run exactly. I guess having a stranger prick your finger and tell you not to move was a little odd...especially after you'd caused a problem with his girlfriend...or secretary. I felt so guilty, as though I'd done something wrong, despite not being able to place exactly what it was.

I relay the events in Stark Tower over and over in my mind on the trip back but as Boston nears, another daunting feeling rushes over me. The fear of what awaits when my disappearance has been noticed by the man and woman who's care I'd recently been placed in. Though they weren't the first foster family I'd been placed with and they certainly weren't the worst...they were not the most reasonable either. It's well past dark as I get off the train and take the bus into Dorchester. It's well into the night when I finally walk along the streets to the house I was staying in. Upon my entry, I am seized by the angry, robust woman and she slaps me across the face-yelling at me for skipping school; for leaving the house in the middle of the night. She orders me to lean over the ottoman in the living room with my jeans down until the man of the house gets home. The other kids staying there have all been through this punishment too and know to say nothing to me or they'll be forced at my side for reprimanding as well. Once my back has aching from being bent over for an hour, the man returns home from the bar and whips me on the back of my legs with his belt until I can no longer feel the sting. The beatings always fill me with shame and anger, but I don't cry out or beg him to stop; to preserve whatever sense of dignity I still have left in me. I grit my teeth and silently take the beating until he decides that I have learned my lesson. He stops whipping me and orders me to pull my pants up.

"We can't have any trouble from you, you understand?" The man slurs with his hand on my neck, trying to sound concerned for me, but I know it's a farce. I know he doesn't care about me; they never do. I am nothing more than a paycheck; my presence pays their rent. He ruffles my hair and sends me to bed, to the room I share with six other girls of varying ages. I crawl into the bed of the piss-stained sheets and torn blankets, laying on my stomach, for the feeling is beginning to return to my legs. I lay awake thinking of the long day...and how just this morning I stood in a building owned by a billionaire, and now I lay in the slums of Boston listening to gunshots and the drunken Irish couple yelling downstairs. I close my eyes and try not to think about it-try not to wonder how I'd gotten here. I stop beating myself up for running today, tell myself that there's no possible way that the DNA could ever match.

I just wasn't that lucky.


	2. You Came to Me

When I wake the next morning, my legs burn where I'd been struck with the thick leather strip repeatedly the previous evening. Once I examine them, I find a few had bled where the buckle had nicked me and that most had bruised. I pull my pants up and grit my teeth as I take those familiar stiff first steps of a morning-after beating; If I keep moving the pain becomes something I get used to and don't focus on so much.

It could be worse-it can always be worse.

As I make my bed, one of the younger girls in the foster-home (whose name I can't remember) comes running into the room we shared with the other girls in the house.

"Come quick-someone's looking for you." She tells me excitedly. I stand up straight and look blankly at her in a moment of disbelief. Once I recover, I slowly follow the girl to the stairs, having to strain to hear the voices at the front door over my noisily thumping heart.

"There ain't no one here by that name" the foster lady tells whoever is at the door "And if you're looking for your kid-you ought to try social services, just like every other sad slob that comes around here looking for the baby they lost in a crack deal."

"No, I know she's here-I traced her here" A familiar male voice insists. I feel my jaw drop, then quickly snap it shut before someone sees. What was he doing here!?

"And who the hell are you-her lawyer?" The woman scoffs-honestly learning the names of my foster-parents was no good. They came and went too quickly for such an acquaintance to matter. Once I left I never saw their faces again; what use was putting names to all the people in my past? Then again...here was a man I thought I'd be putting behind me. His voice was so prominent I'm certain who it is, even though I'm standing at the top of the stairs where I can't see him. I'd practically stalked this man for the last three months. I'd watched him in the news, read about him in papers and magazines and books. I knew everything that the media could tell me about him, about Stark Industries, Arc Reactor technology and, of course, Iron Man. As I walk slowly down the stairs and into the view of the two adults at the front door my eyes fall on the man whose building I'd run out of in New York less than twenty-four hours ago- a familiar face; one I never thought I could bear to look at again.

"Tell you what, I'm going to get my lawyer and he's going to ream you if you don't-" But Tony Stark's words fall short when he sees me standing at the bottom of the stairs watching him in a wide-eyed state.

"Do you know this man?" The foster-woman asks me dangerously. Snapping out of my incredulous element, I automatically shake my head 'no' in fear of punishment. If she found out I'd hopped the train and went all the way to New York to bother the man at his workplace I can't imagine what she'd do. She nods her head in satisfaction as I keep my eyes fixed to the floor. I feel guilty for lying when she gives Mr. Stark a good earful of insults but I do steal a look quick enough to see the billionaire's bewildered face before she slams the door in it.

"God Damn lunatic" The foster-woman growls, shaking her head. She then looks at all of the curious kids who have gathered at the scene and irritably barks "Get your sorry asses to school and go learn something!"

Like vermin, we scramble for our things and out the door to school…not that many of us went, though I often walked the younger kids regardless if I stayed or not. Fosters often lived in the darker parts of Boston, I'd been raised here anyhow so the gangs and violence and danger were nothing new to me. But some of these kids came from the suburbs with no sense of street smarts in them at all. I pitied them; I feared for them. So every day I walked with them to school, whether I stayed or not.

I walk rather slow today, the pain in my legs worsened by a frigid morning in late winter. I stick close to the herd of kids, keeping my eyes peeled for any sort of dangerous situation. I'd been jumped by drug addicts for non-existent lunch money before, threatened by older kids who thought they had something to prove with violence. Several in my group were in kindergarten-I'd hate to see how one took a beating over two dollars they didn't have. We're nearly there when I notice an uncharacteristically expensive car pull up to the curb not far ahead. Wearily, I put myself between the little ones and the car, but continue to walk with my eyes forward until I see the driver exit the vehicle and I stop in my tracks.

My flock of sheep stop too, looking to their shepherd questioningly as Mr. Stark comes around to the passengers side of the car and opens the door. Looking at me with his sunglass-covered eyes, he says "Get in"

I look at the kids, knowing school is only another block away; I can see the chain-linked fence from here. I know they're cold, dressed in their uselessly thin jackets and snow-soaked sneakers. I myself can't feel my toes or fingers or the tip of my nose. I turn to the oldest boy and instruct him to continue on and assure them that I'll see them at school. When they do, I look back to Mr. Stark as he insists "C'mon it's freezing."

Trying not to show reluctance or fear, I get in and he shuts the door. The heat is running, Judas Priest's "Pain and Pleasure" playing quietly from the speakers as he ducks into the drivers seat and closes his door. I swallow hard when he doesn't say anything right away-regretting having gotten in. Wasn't this the number one thing you weren't supposed to do when some strange person you hardly knew told you to get in their car?

After a good moment Mr. Stark says the word "Mute" aloud. Rob Halford's voice cut's off-Glenn Tipton's guitar stops short. Another agonizing silence proceeds the awkward happenings so I speak up "That's a good album." gesturing casually to the dash.

Mr. Stark turns his head to me, then glances at the stereo with a nod of agreement "Kinda before your time though."

"Everything good was before my time." I scoff "You had Metallica, Sabbath and AC/DC-I got Justin Bieber and One Direction."

He let's out a laugh and I allow myself a smile.

"So why'd you lie?" He questions after a moment.

I inhale slowly, chewing the corner of my thumbnail nervously for a second; I couldn't tell him I was scared of a whooping. He'd think I was a coward.

"To the woman…why'd you say you didn't know me?" He elaborates, thinking I didn't understand the question.

I shrug "I dunno." I mumble, focusing my eyes on two guys outside standing in an alleyway. They were scoping out the car-never a good sign of things to come in this neighborhood.

I can feel Mr. Starks eyes on me still as he asks "Then why'd you run?"

"What?" I frown, turning to him now.

"Yesterday-my security said you ran out of the building without stopping." He clarifies, pulling off his sunglasses "I told you to stay put. Why'd you run?"

"I-" I stammer, embarrassed by my lack of spine yesterday. I reach for the door handle "I have to go to school"

As I grab the door handle the car locks and I feel my stomach drop; whose wouldn't? The sound of a door locking when you are trying to leave is never something a person wants to hear.

"Hey, you came to me, remember?" He reminds me. I look carefully at Mr. Stark as he demands to know "Why would you come all the way to New York if you were just going to run off like that?"

"Because…I just needed to know…" I manage to utter past the distress I was trying to hide.

"Know what?" He asks urgently.

"That you…if you..." I try, but I can't say the words "father" or "dad"; these words were foreign and unknown to me. They held a heavy weight which my tongue could not lift. I look at him in the eyes while trying the door handle once more; it's useless. He stares at me and I say with all the authority I have in me "I'm late to school"

But the door doesn't unlock, and he doesn't stop looking at me.

"I ran a test…that's what the finger prick was for. You're…I'm…" He stammers, but falls short with the weight of his own heavy words, and decides on different ones after a long pause "Our DNA matches up perfectly"

My body stiffens, as if trying to keep itself from shaking with the shock of the confirmation I'd searched for all this time. It was true-it was all true. All the lies my mother told me, the secret she'd kept...

"Oh" I manage to squeak after some time. No matter how long I sat there, it wasn't registering...it wouldn't go through or sink in deep enough. I wasn't alone-I had a blood relative:Tony Stark. Famous multi-billionaire genius. Owner of the most advance technological company in the world-and the most advanced piece of equipment ever invented. He was my...

I scrunch my face up- that word.

"So I figured...if you want to, I could you know...send you to a nicer school, give you some money." He starts, then adds reluctantly. "I'm not...I can't be a..."

I blink hard and stare forward out the front windshield in disbelief at what he was saying-then again, I should have known he'd write me off. I should have known a billionaire bachelor wouldn't want some girl around-some kid messing with his life. Why would he? What was in it for him?

I had no right to expect anything from him, I should be grateful he even came here at all. Still... his offer felt like a cheat. I felt owed something more...an apology or an excuse for why he left my mother. Something other than a check...something more personal. It felt undignified, it made me feel dirty-easily tossed aside.

But Mr. Stark was a business man and to him I was just that: business.

"No." I say quietly.

"No?" He frowns, looking at me like I'm stupid.

"No" I repeat, anger replacing my prior nerves. "No, I don't want your money-that isn't why I came to find you"

"Then what do you want?" He asks, for a genius he was certainly oblivious.

I look him over, deciding that this whole adventure was of mute point "Nothing you can give me"

I find the unlock button next to my shoulder and press it. Before he can say more, I get out of the car and clench my teeth as a cold wind cuts through my inadequately thin jacket and my torn up jeans. I walk hurriedly onto the blacktop of the elementary school without looking back to Mr. Stark's car even though he is yelling at me. I see my teacher open the door for class and head straight through. As I'm hanging up my coat I realize something that twists my stomach into a tight knot.

I'd left my school bag in the passenger's side of Tony Stark's Audi.

All day I worried what would happen when I returned to the house that afternoon without my backpack. Surely my fosters would be angry, the smallest things made these ones angry. It didn't help that the man was a drunk. Every time he whipped me with his belt I could smell the sickly sweet smell of whiskey. It wasn't uncommon; a lot of the foster-men drank. When they beat on you, the stink of it burned in your nose as you lay bleeding wherever he left you-too scared to move yourself from the cold wood of the floor. The smell made you sick after awhile, it made you hate alcohol...it made you hate men and especially drunk men. It made you hate the weak women who took it all the same next to you-or even worse the ones who stood beside him.

The smell was extra worse later that night. There was no belt; only a fist. The woman stood in the doorway watching his knuckles connect with my face. Her arms were crossed and her face smug, having wanting to see me punished since Mr. Stark showed up on the steps this morning. It makes me angry, it makes me hate them and all the same makes me hopeless.

He hadn't wanted me. He'd wanted to send me away-give me money and be done with it. I would never have a home or a family. This was it for me- this was my fate. And so I surrender to the blows, taking them as they come while I hang limp by my tightly gripped forearm. I let the sting remind me that I was alone- that I could only depend on myself and that no one, not even the man whose blood spilled from my flesh and onto the floor...one cared about me.

The bruises marked me in more ways than one. At school they sent up flags next to my name and signaled for phone calls to be made. By nightfall there were police officers at the foster-home, making kids pack their things in black plastic bags. I packed what little clothing I had, and the copies of books I'd managed to keep hold of all these years, but that was all that I had without my backpack. I remember that my copy of Frankenstein was inside-as well as the things I'd deemed too precious to risk leaving unattended in the shared quarters. I feel a bit of my heart breaking at the revelation; the book had been my mother's...and now it was gone.

At the police station, I wait in the hall with the plastic bag at my feet until Sam shows up. I knew Sam's name because he was the person I depended on to take me to and from each new foster-home. He was a young man and in this circus ring of hell, he was the only one whose name I needed to remember. He was the one to get a hold of when the going got tough and it was time to move on.

He comes in and has a few words with the police officers before coming over to where I sat. He crouches down and sighs when he sees my black eye. Without a word, he pats my knee and takes my bag, but puts a guiding hand on my back as he leads the way to his car. I sit in the back while he drives. That's when he tells me I'll have to go to a group home while he finds a suitable placement for me. I nod, chewing my thumbnail mindlessly while he talks. Only when he says "You know...I had a man call my office yesterday claiming to be a relative of yours."

My head snaps up at that. He continues "Says you came and met with him in New York a few days before...guy sounded like a complete nutcase. You know anything about that?"

I stare at him-wanting to blurt out my secret to somebody. If anyone was to know, it was Sam...

But Mr. Stark didn't want me- it didn't matter who knew. He didn't want me, and so I say nothing.

"Ollie?"

"Hm?" I ask.

"You haven't been to New York have you?" He asks with a laugh, but it's a serious inquiry all the same.

"C'mon Sam, how would I get to New York?" I joke, but I try to sound serious as well.

"Oh, I don't doubt your resourcefulness." Sam ponders thoughtfully "And he described you pretty well..."

"Sam-" I start weakly after a brief silence, ready to burst out and tell him everything that had torn at me these past few months, but he pulls up to the dark brick building. He parks the car and gets out, leaving me with my secrets; leaving them to claw at my insides. We don't talk as he leads the way into the building to the front desk. I watch him as he talks to the secretary, wanting to tell him about Tony Stark- tell him he'd offered to send me to school. Maybe I had a chance in life with a proper education-maybe no one would beat me there.

"Sam-"

He bends down to my level and puts his hands on my shoulders. "Alright Ollie, I'll come check on you in a few days, hopefully by then I'll find you a good home"

"I'll never have a home Sam" I tell him without thinking, thus deciding telling him of my recent adventures is no use. I was an orphan, and always would be.


	3. The Lion's Den

Sam looks at me in that apologetic way he always does when he leaves me in a new foster home. Only, as I look around it's plain to see we aren't in a stranger's house, but rather a facility of some sort. I frown, observing the tiny room surrounded with hideous green walls and floors covered with an unctuous white linoleum. Everything smells of disinfectant and raw metal; the taste of it coats my tongue. Sam signs a paper and nods to the woman behind a large desk, who presses a button on the wall behind her. A loud "BUZZ" honks over our heads and from the only other door in the room, emerges a tall mustached man in a crisp black Boston Police uniform. He stops in the open doorway and looks at a clipboard the woman from the front desk holds out as she stands to meet him; in full view, her coordinating uniform reveals to me that she too is a police officer.

As the two officers flip through papers, they glance up at me while speaking in hushed whispers. I look to Sam in a panic and he takes a deep, regret-filled breath "Like I said, it's only temporary. The foster system is very full and with how rapidly you've been moving through homes, it's going to be hard getting a family to accept placement with you."

My heart races in alarm as I look past the officers and down the pallid, halogen-lit hallway behind them. The male officer takes the clipboard and looks to me "Caroline Locke-follow me."

Though I'm looking straight at the man with no misunderstanding of what he wants me to do, I am frozen with the anticipation of what horrors lay beyond this sickly little admittance room. Only when Sam nudges me forward do my feet unstick from the squeaky clean floor. As the officer guides me onward into the hall, I look back at Sam through the thick glass window in the door. A dreadful despondency fills me as I watch him hang his head and rub his tired face in remorse for sending me here. His sorrow only heightens my fears; if he was that upset, this place must be unimaginably horrid.

I follow the officer's directions down the hall as he walks behind me. Everything is painted a light grey-the walls, the doors, the ceilings and floors. My surroundings seems to blend together in a dull lump, illuminated by blinding bulbs which buzz loudly over our heads as we walk further away from the entrance. I forget about Sam; about Mr. Stark and what is behind me. I keep my eyes forward, keep my focus on what awaits me beyond one of the plentiful doors we pass.

Eventually the officer tells me to stop just before he unlocks a door to my right with a thick ring of keys. I wait for him to signal me onward; I had to play his game. I was always playing games and learning the rules to each one; studying my new opponents for strength and weaknesses. As many games as I'd played, I never felt as though I never truly got the feel of one before being forced into another. For now, the officer was the rule maker, or any officer he passed me off to; which happened quite quickly upon entering into a new hallway. A female officer took the reins from here and brought me into a room with no door. She stood in the corner of the room nearest the opening and spoke in an emotionless, authoritative way as she asks "Do you currently have any illegal substances on your person at this time?"

Feeling a little surprised someone would accuse me of having drugs, I answer weakly "No"

"Are you currently in possession of any weapons, poisons, explosives or flammable objects?"

"No." I tell her quietly, wondering just exactly where Sam had brought me. The male officer who had led me here enters the room with a stack of clothes and a clear plastic bag, as well as the garbage bag of clothes from my previous foster home. He sets everything on the floor several feet from me then turns to the policewoman, telling her "Those were the smallest size we had" with a slight hint of annoyance in his voice.

The female officer nods and he leaves. She looks at me then commands "Please remove all clothing and personal items and place them inside the bag. Your belongings will be searched for weapons, explosives and illegal substances. Your property will be stored on site in a controlled container until the time of your release. At said time all items you place in the bag will be returned to you in their current state. Once you have removed all clothing please turn one full circle."

I face the wall before clumsily removing my clothes with nervously numbed fingers. The air in the empty cement room is damp and cool; it sends my body into violent shivers upon exposure. Using my hands to cover myself, I begin to turn but the policewoman commands me to put my hands at my sides. I obey; I play the game. An atrocious lump knots in my stomach as I slowly rotate on this forced display of bare-skinned degradation. I keep my eyes down, focus on the concrete as she tells me to dress in the clothes on the floor. I hastily cover myself and adorn the stiff maroon pants and shirt labeled "State of Massachusetts Juvenile Corrections". Upon reading the label it becomes clear what has happened to me.

I'd been ripped from one system and thrust into another. This wasn't a game anymore, this was a whole new enterprise. Incarcerated for being unwanted; locked behind bars to be forgotten by a world I'd never even gotten a chance to be a part of.

I'm directed to another room, this one has a door. Inside is a metal toilet and sink for washing and peeing. Opposite the stainless facilities, the painted gray concrete floor raises to the height of my hips in a flat rectangular shape. Upon the platform is a thin plastic mattress and folded on top of that is a set of white sheets, a pillow and a charcoal-grey wool blanket. Without a word, the police officer shuts the door behind me. As I hear the sound of the key locking the door to my cell I recall how Mr. Stark had trapped me in his car for a brief moment only a day before. As I unfolded the scratchy, stained sheets I determine that Tony Stark and his tower, his fancy car and his offerings all felt like a distant dream within this sudden and fresh nightmare I now found myself in.

Shortly after I settle into the bed, the single bulb in the cell ceiling turns off. The hall lights still peek through a tiny window on the door that is much taller than my head. I close my eyes and sleep, waking up what feels like only minutes later when a guard knocks on my door and tells me to make my bed then step forward into the hall. Rubbing my eyes I do as I'm told, exit through the open door and standing before it. I am not alone in this demand; on each side of the hallway, both left and right are girls following the same order as I. They stand outside their doors waiting as the guards inspect each and every room for order. I feel nervous when the guard enters mine, although she quickly exits upon seeing my made-up bed calling to her partner "107: Clear!" and moves on to the next cell where she calls "109: Clear!". None of the girls talk; only the voices of the guards clearing the cells bounces around the silent hall until each one reaches the very end of the room At this point the girls turn to face the guard to my right, and I do the same.

"Alright ladies!" The front guard yells loud and clear "Single file! No talking until you are at your assigned tables! Odd numbers first, even numbers follow!"

She waves the girl at the front of my line forward and the rest follow her out. I fall into step with them, keeping my eyes on the number "105" patched on the back of the girl's shirt in front of me. I assumed then that mine read "107" as we filed into a cafeteria. Everyone takes a tray with multiple compartments and receives a meal of oatmeal, fruit and juice. I watch carefully how girls take their seats at bolted down metal tables, determining the pattern by which we are supposed to be seated. Luckily I am expected to simply follow the person in front of me. If the table is full I take a seat at the next. I take my tray to the table where I am seated with girls 105, 109, and 111. I notice then that I am among the youngest in the room; most certainly the smallest. The other girls at my table are in their late teens and I keep my eyes on my food as the guard calls out "Ladies, remember the rules. No physical contact, no conversation pertaining to illicit activity, no swearing and absolutely no violent behavior will be tolerated!"

The end of the guard's reminder signals the granting of low murmurs from the inmates. I pick at my oatmeal with a spoon, aware that the girls at my table are eying me. Finally 111 says "Didn't know they was lockin' up kindergarteners nowadays."

"Hey-what'd you do shorty?" 105 asks, leaning down within my eyesight. She lets out a whistle "Damn, somebody knocked you 'round real good"

I take a bite of oatmeal and chew slowly.

"Hey-we're talking to you bitch" 111 snaps viciously. I look up at her briefly and she quickly sneers "Don't you look at me-I'll tear you apart you little chihuahua"

"Hey, chill" 109 tells the other two "She don't wanna talk, she don't need to talk"

I look around and notice various girls are looking at me, whispering to each other about me. All around they study me with wide cat-like grins and an evil hunger in their eyes. I was fresh meat, something new to play with, something different for them to sink their claws into.

I eye the guards, circling the room from the catwalk above our heads. I meet eyes with one and wonder if he knows. I worry he may know my name isn't Locke, as all my foster papers stated; all the forms here stated. I watch as another guard approaches him and starts up a conversation. Could she know?

Could any of them be a disguised agent like the ones I'd been hiding from all this time? Who of them knew I was not Caroline Locke, but actually Caroline Stark? Surely someone was searching-waiting to gather me up and send me to SHIELD headquarters, and juvenile hall was an obvious place to look for someone trying to hide from the government; for somebody with something to hide.

The guards circle overhead like lions watching over their coalitions. Ever watchful, ever waiting for a sign of misconduct; craving the opportunity to reprimand rule-breakers.

And I was one of the most sought-after rule breakers unbeknownst to the incarcerated teenagers and shiny-badged police officers I now found myself surrounded by.


	4. Transfer

I wait for it to happen.

I wait for the lights of my cell to turn on in the middle of the night while I slept. They'd shout demands at me, cuff my hands behind my back and call me by my given birth name. I'd have been found at last, after all this time, and they'd haul me away to DC.

SHIELD would finally have me.

I count the days off, keep my head down and hope for Sam to retrieve me from this horrendous place. Despite being confined in a cell, I had never felt more exposed in my life. Apart from the time I spent in my room, there was always a pair of eyes on me. The inmates ate together, spent their days in the yard or rec hall together. We even showered in groups.

And being watched by the guards all the time did not protect me from my inmates-not at all. Twice in the same week I'd been caught in the middle of separate fights. I was still bruised from my last foster home when inmate 164 had come up behind me and thrown me into the cement floor and began kicking me in the sides. Two days later, inmates 98, 114, 170 and 65 grabbed me in the laundry room and beat on me mercilessly.

That had been three days ago and I still woke up with my face adhered to my pillowcase by the bloody drool which leaked from my mouth each night.

I sat in my cell on the seventh night. My head was pounding, my body ached. My skin was splotched in nearly every color I could name.

It had only been a week.

I knew I had to get out, but I knew I had nowhere to turn. Nobody wanted me…

I wait for the lights to go out- it was time soon, but they don't. After a long length of time spent listening to the hum of the overhead lights I hear the unexpected sound of a key in the door, and a guard calls out my fake name before she tells me to follow her. My heart races, knowing something wasn't right. They wouldn't move me otherwise this late-would they?

The guard directs me through a series of halls, eventually coming to a small interrogation room with a private restroom. On the metal table is a plastic bag and I immediately recognize my belongings.

"You can get dressed in the restroom." Is all the guard tells me. I quickly grab my things, my hands shaking with the anticipation of leaving. I figure Sam must have found me placement in a foster home. I can't help but let out a laugh of relief as I dress in the scummy little bathroom; I hurry in case it's some sort of trick.

I come out and set the prison clothes on the table before the officer leads me through the second door and into the little green waiting room where I'd been dropped of last week. Only the man standing before the desk isn't Sam…it's Mr. Stark.

He's laughing with a group of guards, taking pictures and telling a joke. I stand there, watching him chew fat with the officers until he looks at me. A bitter taste forms in my mouth, angry words catch in my throat. I nearly set them loose, but remind myself what lies behind the door just behind me. A cold fear tames my fiery resentment quick enough to keep me quiet. I lock my jaw stubbornly, look to Mr. Stark for direction. Now it was his game; his rules.

Our eyes lock for a second and he says "Looks like you made friends."

I don't respond; any words that will pass out of my split lips in this moment will only cause me a great pain in those that would follow. After waiting a few seconds for me to respond, Mr. Stark tells the officers that he needs to go, taking a small amount of papers from the desk. Upon reaching the exit, he looks at me still standing at the back of the room "You comin'?"

I glance cautiously at the guards before scurrying out the door anxiously. The cold February night cuts through me as we exit the building. I immediately start shivering, but clench my jaw tight so my teeth can't chatter visibly. I ignore the frigid air, the snow falling from the deep black sky as I follow Mr. Stark to the same white audi he'd pulled up to me in the week before. Had it only been a week? It felt like years-like another lifetime ago.

Mr. Stark gets into the drivers side. I look around the desolate parking lot contemplating the option of running off. I quickly determine I would only end up back in jail, so I open up the passenger door and get in the car. He starts the engine wordlessly and drives.

I don't look back at juvenile hall. I put it behind me then and there. Wounds can never heal if you keep them open. The nurses in there had stitched me up and given me medical attention. It was my job to keep moving forward; to heal. I watch as the lampposts go by; watch the glowing yellow streets of Boston fade away in their still light. My home, the city I'd grown up in, was going by in a blur. Familiar corners passed by in the darkness, the streets my feet had grown walking upon fade away into the distance. I knew nothing else, but as Mr. Stark pulled into the turn off for the airport, I knew it was gone.

We don't talk and the car is silent as Mr. Stark drives. I try to think of something to say, but I don't want to thank him-I knew this was some sort of obligation he'd felt. I can't ask why, because it might change his mind or make me seem ungrateful...I can't come up with the right thing to say-so I say nothing. Apparently, neither could he.

I pull my old grey jacket from my plastic bag before exiting the car, since the snow was falling thick and heavy now. It wasn't much, but it was all I had for now. A hand-me down left by an older child in a past life, in a past home. I put it on when the car stops inside a hanger next to a jet. Having never seen one up-close I stare for a good moment in awe. I stand back as Mr. Stark walks up the steps of the plane. I stare with my mouth agape at the lavish vessel, reminding myself that he was a billionaire and maybe I shouldn't act so impressed. I mean, I didn't want to make him feel too good about taking me in-his ego seemed big enough without my gaping at his cars and jets.

I then notice somebody else is on the steps, the woman from his office earlier this week is speaking to him in frantic whispers, both adults glancing my way, which means I am the obvious topic of their hurried verbal exchange. I look away uncomfortably, pretending something else has caught my interest until Mr. Stark calls me over. I walk to the base of the steps where they now stand and look to him as he says "You remember Miss Potts?"

I nod "Yes." holding my garbage bag over my shoulder.

The woman looks at me in an almost frightened way-but her calm and orderly front returns before I can assume she absolutely wishes he hadn't come and taken me. "Well, we should probably get headed west, it's a long flight and you must be tired."

She discreetly shoots another look of disapproval at Mr. Stark as she disappears into the plane. He drops his hands heavily against his sides, following her with an exasperated expression on his face. I bring up the rear, walking up the steps and through the plane entrance, only the inside looks nothing like I'd imagined. Instead of rows of seats, there are only a few plush leather chairs and matching couches. Miss Potts motions to the seats across from hers and Mr. Stark's and I sit nervously, holding the garbage bag in my lap tightly.

"We can put that somewhere-" Miss Potts starts, but I shake my head. The two adults are staring at me, the only thing to be heard is the sound of the plane starting. I avert my eyes, watching the lights go by out the window. I feel the plane speed up and hug my things tightly until the plane is in the air and it's quiet once more in the cabin.

"So...Caroline-" Miss Potts starts, but i quickly correct her.

"It's Ollie." I tell her, feeling nervous with their eyes on me. Being in such close quarters to strangers with no way to escape when things went downhill might make one justifiably so. "I go by Ollie Stark."

Mr. Stark shifts a little at the mention of our shared name. I glance at him, then look back to Miss Potts.

"Ollie." She corrects herself with her own uncomfortable smile. Beside her, Mr. Stark shifts in his seat, and stares at me. I look to them both expectantly, but it takes Mrs. Potts a moment to continue "Can you...tell us a little about yourself?"

I shrug. They didn't want to know about me, they wanted to know where I'd been, why I was here, why they were they stuck with me.

"Do you have any questions for us?" Miss Potts asks.

I'm so taken aback by being asked for my own voice that I come up short at first. After a moment I ask "What school are you taking me to?"

"School?" Miss Potts questions, then looks to Mr. Stark, who stares at me wide-eyed and angry "Pepper could you give us a minute?"

Miss potts looks like she may protest, until she nods curtly and walks off to the front of the plane without a word.

"Are you trying to make me look bad?"

"No." I answer quietly.

He sighs "Nevermind. Just forget about the whole...school thing. "

"But-"

"I mean, I could ship you off to some boarding school and forget about you there...you'd get an education and everything. If you're any bit as smart as I am, well you'll surely succeed and graduate at the top of your class. Right?"

I nod.

"Which I'm guessing doesn't seem too bad compared to juvie now does it?"

I roll my eyes and glare out the plane window. He was taunting me. Yes, had I taken his offer the day he stopped me in the street, I'd have never ended up in jail.

"What'd you do anyway?" Mr. Stark asks, unbuckling his seatbelt. He walks over to the bar and pours himself a glass of something dark. He looks up "Need a tall one?"

"You know I'm nine right?" I ask looking at him incredulously.

"Nine? You look younger."

"I'm almost ten." I defend.

"Kinda small for a ten year old" He frowns, grabbing a bottled water and coming back to his seat across from me. He sips the amber liquid and hands me the water. He looks me over "you didn't answer my question."

"I'm not sure what you were asking" I say unscrewing the bottle "did you want to know why I got my ass handed to me or why I was in Juvie? Or did you mean something else?"

"Start with the picasso some girl painted on your face"

"Girls." I correct, taking a big gulp of water "And like you said, I'm small. Easy target."

He nods "Easy target...so what crime did they pin on you?"

I smirk "Didn't they tell you? Or wasn't it on the forms?"

"No, actually" He frowns, pulling the papers out of his jacket. He looks them over "and your name is wrong on here-or at least it's different than your birth certificate"

"Locke was my mother's name." I explain, but know he won't remember her so I continue on the conversation fluidly "She named me Caroline, but always called me Ollie. My last name is Stark, same as yours"

"Got a middle name?"

"Not one worth mentioning." I scoff "Anyway, they put me in juvie because there was nowhere else to stick me. I didn't you know, steal anything or light a major fire. No. System was just full, no one wanted me."

"So they put you in Juvenile Hall?"

"Foster Care is a government system, Juvenile Hall is a government facility" I shrug "that's how it all works"

He takes a sip of his drink and I ask "So if you aren't sending me away, where are we going?"

"California." He says "I live in Malibu most of the time-when I'm not running a multi-billion dollar company"

I can't help it. At the mention of his work my eyes glance to his chest. The anti-shadow of the arc reactor peers through the fibers of his shirt. I know that glow-I know very well what it is. I recall previously reading about the arc reactor at Stark enterprises-how it had been developed in the 70s as way to burn clean energy, yet nothing came of it. Now, it kept Mr. Stark alive…and it was powerful enough to run his suit of armor-but I knew…if reconfigured, if expanded upon, the whole world could run on the arc reactor's principle technologies.

I look back up after a moment, knowing it's rude to stare. I can tell I've made him uncomfortable, but he's quick to cover his feelings with a bit of snark "I could let you poke it-give you a good zap."

I chew my lip and keep my eyes on the floor.

"Anyway...you'll be coming home with me. We can figure everything else out later." He says with a casual wave of his hand.

Later...later could mean anything. Days...weeks...hours? As we flew through the air across country I wondered how long 'later' would be this time. I wasn't sure, watching Mr. Stark sip his drink and discuss casual business with Miss Potts, just how long I _wanted_ "later' to be.


End file.
